


History Professor or Professor History?

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Canon Rewrite, I don't know what I'm doing, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), Sassy Merlin (Merlin), Secret Identity, With merlin, i love how that's a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29636172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After spending a few years (read: fifty) aboard, Merlin returns to England. He doesn't even have time to unpack, however, before he gets a letter from Dumbledore, asking him to meet in Hogwarts.The rest is history. (No, literally.)
Relationships: Merlin (Merlin) & Everyone
Comments: 26
Kudos: 201
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Welcome back

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing, but does anyone ever?  
> (Merlin and Harry certainly don't, at least in first few seasons/books.)

Merlin stared at the statue.

The statue stared back.

“Don’t mock me,” the warlock said with a scowl, folding his arms. “I know you remember me.”

The statue kept staring.

“Godrick would be ashamed of you,” Merlin tried again, “No respect for your elders. Now open up before I force you to, you useless block of stone.”

Nothing.

“Is… he talking to the statue?” One of the portraits whispered to another.

“Just pretend you didn’t notice,” another portrait advised. “He is obviously not right in the head, it’s impolite to point it out.”

Merlin fought the urge to bang his head against the wall. “You’ve had your fun. Now let me in.”

He considered just forcing his way through, but he didn’t want to mess with the enchantments on the gargoyle. It was Godrick who put them there, and it would have felt like a violation to override them. So he just waited, staring impatiently at the bird-like creature.

Then, finally, after what seemed like hours but probably was just a few minutes, the statue started to move. Merlin fought back a relieved sigh as he made his way into the office of his long-time friend, throwing his bag on the floor uncaringly. It had been a long time since he had last been here, and he had to admit, he missed the place greatly. It was unsurprising to see that Dumbledore didn’t change much; the large, circular room was still full of magicked objects making funny noises and emitting puffs of smoke, and a great number of snoozing portraits. And right in the middle there was the familiar claw-footed desk, and behind it, sitting on a shelf, was the sorting hat.

Merlin grinned, grabbed a lemon drop from the desk and popped it in his mouth as he made his way around the table.

“If it isn’t my favourite, stupid old hat,” he noted cheerfully “Don’t you look good for your age.”

“Merlin. Why am I not surprised to see you again?” The hat huffed, squinting at the approaching warlock. “And I’m younger than you, by great many years, actually. Three hundred? Four?”

“I think it’s only three,” Merlin smiled cheekily, then proceeded to poke the hat in the face.

It let out an undignified squeak, then tried to bite Merlin’s finger. When that didn’t work, it just frowned at the warlock. “What are you doing here? Besides interrupting my nap.”

Merlin made a face. That was the question, wasn’t it? Truth was, he had no exact idea. He had ideas, of course; he just didn’t have anything concrete. That letter from Dumbledore was out of nowhere and said nothing besides stating that they should meet as soon as possible. How did the wizard even know Merlin was back?

He hardly even entered the country when an owl appeared and dropped the letter in his lap.

“Hell if I know,” the warlock shrugged cheerfully, before a movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention. He turned, then beamed. “Fawkes! Is that _you_?”

The phoenix chirped happily, flying over to perch on his shoulder, snuggling up to his face.

“Aw, missed me didn’t you,” Merlin cooed, scratching the feathers on Fawkes’ head carefully. “You’ve grown quite a lot, you know. Or did you get reborn since? I never know for how long you live.”

The phoenix chirped again.

“Merlin! It’s good to see you again, old friend.”

The warlock blinked, frozen for a moment. The familiarity of the voice threw him back fifty years or so, back to the time he had last been here, in this castle, or more specifically, in this office.

It felt like only yesterday he had left, and yet he knew for the others it wasn’t so.

He turned swiftly and beamed at the newly entered headmaster. “Albus! It’s as if you haven’t aged a day!” His grin widened. “You don’t look a day over eighty, I swear.”

The headmaster huffed, his eyes twinkling as he made his way towards Merlin. “And you still look like you are twenty. I must admit, I’m quite envious.” He reached out, gently scratching Fawkes under the head. “How was the Amazon?”

“Bloody amazing. The magical community there is a blast, reminded me of the druids, actually, with the way they were so close to nature.” He smiled at the memory. “You know how you guys can learn to turn into animals? Well, they turn into plants. Plants, Albus.” He waved a hand, turning a few of his fingers into long leaves for a moment, wiggling them for show. “I learned how to turn into a Calathea.”

He grabbed another lemon drop, then with a wave of his hand and a glint of golden eyes he conjured two chairs and hopped into one of them. “Imagine my surprise when I came back to find out that you all went and started a wizarding war without me.”

Merlin caught the wince on Dumbledore’s face as the wizard lowered himself into the other chair.

“Care to explain?” The warlock asked, lifting one eyebrow.

When he had returned and started catching up, he was not impressed. He had only been gone for fifty-some years, and yet the world managed to turn itself inside out in the meantime, with a full-blown war and a great number of casualties. It was incredible how one man could create so much chaos and destruction.

Granted, Voldemort had been simply the last drop in the already contaminated water.

Albus was silent for a long moment, just staring ahead of himself in quiet contemplation before he pulled out his wand and waved it elegantly. Merlin could feel the magic shift in the air as a stone bowl with runic carvings levitated over to them. It was filled with a silvery substance, swirling and whirling inside.

“I’d rather show you,” the bearded wizard said, “I trust you remember how Pensieves work?”

“As if I could forget,” Merlin scoffed.

* * *

A few hours later, the warlock was still situated in the office, but he was much more sombre. Reading about the war was one thing, seeing memories of it was another. Sure, Merlin had seen wars before. Lived them, fought in them, died in them.

But it never got easier.

“So, I take it you don’t think he is gone?” He asked, petting Fawkes absent-mindedly.

Albus shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I can’t be sure, but…”

“It’s better safe than sorry,” Merlin agreed.

Albus nodded. “One of Flamel’s diaries have been stolen. I fear it may be connected to Riddle. As a precaution I’ve decided to move the stone here, where it will be safest.”

Merlin nodded thoughtfully, “That is probably smart. There is hardly any place more protected.”

“Especially if you are here,” Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling under his half-moon glasses, bringing some amount of joy back into the room.

With a blink and a consequent frown, Merlin tilted his head to the side. “Ah, so that’s why you asked for me.”

“Maybe.” Albus lifted his eyebrows. “Or maybe I just wanted to catch up with a friend who has been gone for far too long.”

“Sure you did,” Merlin grinned. “But I’ve got a feeling there is more to this meeting.”

“Maybe I have found myself wondering,” Albus allowed with a small smile, “Are you still fond of teaching history?”


	2. Before school begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hidden tower is revisited, a seer throws a crystal ball, a Potions professor is unimpressed, and curiousity did not kill the cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably far from perfect, but since I'm sick of rereading it, I'm just gonna post it and hope for the best.  
> Please drop me a comment if you like it - or if you don't, I'm not picky I just like opinions.

**Four weeks before school begins**

His room hadn’t changed.

Not that he expected it would.

When the castle was first built, nearly a thousand years ago, there was one tower that Merlin fell in love with almost instantly. It might have been because of the view, or the placing, or maybe simply because there was something about it that reminded him of his time back in Camelot. But whenever he found himself wandering through the halls, that tower was where he would usually end up.

Then, of course, those four idiots just had to find out about it, and they declared the tower to be Merlin’s right on the spot.

At first, the warlock honestly believed that taking the whole tower for himself was a bit of overdoing it. Why would he need that much space? It was ridiculous. He hardly ever carried more than a bag.

…Even if it was a magic bag that had enough room in it to be able to store a whole castle.

And no, the reason for that is absolutely not the fact that that was one of Merlin’s ideas about how to hide Camelot. What a preposterous suggestion.

(Merlin was still thankful that Freya talked him out of that one. Carrying a castle around is, in fact, not as convenient as it sounds. No, Merlin does not know that from experience.)

In the end, it turned out having a tower was more useful than one would have thought. As Merlin started to get comfortable, he began to move all his things there and he quickly realized that it was hardly too much space for someone immortal, even though back then he only had three hundred years’ worth of things to store. He used to keep it all in a small house near the lake of Avalon.

After the fall of Camelot, he had spent years near that lake, building a house there with only Freya for company. She wasn’t exactly _there_ , seeing as she was mostly dead, but she visited sometimes, casually emerging out of the lake to join him for tea.

And through all the years, she kept urging him to leave.

He was reluctant at first, adamant that he needed to stay and wait for Arthur’s return. Because he would. Merlin knew he would.

So he just. Waited.

But then, something changed. He wasn’t sure what exactly, couldn’t remember if it was some sort of outside influence, or if he had finally snapped, but one day he found himself packing a bag and locking the door behind himself. Freya had promised him that if Arthur were to return, she would find a way to tell Merlin, no matter where the warlock was.

He was not abandoning his destiny, he was living his life.

And so, he set off.

He spent years wandering the world, hopping from place to place, never staying anywhere for long. He did start gathering his knowledge, though, scribbling in his diary, writing and collecting books, picking up magical artefacts left and right that he would drop off back at the house by the lake.

Sometimes Aithusa would accompany him, other times it would be Kilgarrah, or at times he would journey alone. For nearly a hundred years he completely refused any human company, firmly believing that he didn’t need anyone but his dragons.

And then he met four young wand users, outcasted from society for something they couldn’t help, forced to live in secret for fear of their powers. It wasn’t even a question whether he should help them or not, he couldn’t just leave them behind, not when they reminded him so much of himself.

And just like that, suddenly, his world changed again.

It was a few years later that the plan was born; a school for those with magic, young wizards and witches that required acceptance just as much as guidance. The idea was that nobody would ever have to grow up like they did, hated, running, afraid of themselves just as much as others were of them.

Merlin was more than happy to assist.

And so when the four encouraged him to return whenever he wished to, even offered him a charm so no portraits could ever be made, he accepted the offer willingly.

He warded his tower with a thousand different spells, making sure nobody else could ever set foot there without permission, so much so that most people didn’t even realize this tower existed anymore. Unless he was there, in which case they would find it completely inconspicuous and perfectly natural. He wanted to make sure that his identity remained a secret, and for that, he needed the tower to be as safe as possible.

But still, even after all these years, every time Merlin returned to Britain, his first stop would always be the lake. There, he would talk with Freya, check the house, and only after that he would he move onto the tower.

Merlin smiled as his eyes swept over the room he hadn’t seen in fifty years. It looked positively chaotic from the thousand years’ worth of junk he had accumulated. It was filled with bookshelves, different magical artefacts, a few non-magical portraits and quite a few jars enchanted to keep their content forever fresh.

He had one giant desk placed under one of the windows, the only thing in the room that was completely empty.

And that was just his office. There was a staircase leading up to his bedroom, which in turn contained his bed, an endless wardrobe with all his clothes, a small desk, a few trunks containing all manner of things, and a weird sentient stone that kept hopping off the table in the middle of the night.

Merlin ran his finger over the nearest surface, happy to see that the dust-free enchantment still held. Cleaning up the accumulated dust of fifty years would have been a pain.

The warlock threw his bag on the nearby chair and with a careless handwave he unpacked the few belongings he had brought from the Amazon rainforest.

There were some pots of flowers and different species of plants - that he should probably take to the greenhouses, -placing themselves on the empty windowsills, a few books of observations, spells and other teachings he had scribbled down in the last fifty years, flying into their respective places on bookshelves, some jars of ingredients, putting themselves into place next to the other jars Merlin had, his endless diary, which ended up on the desk, and some clothes that flew up into his bedroom’s wardrobe. They were probably inappropriate to wear around here considering the Amazonian magicians were on the opinion that less clothes were better than more.

Merlin had a sneaking suspicion that most of the robes in his wardrobe were now either outdated or didn’t fit, so he probably needed to take a trip to Diagon Alley in the near future. He wasn’t complaining about the fact that he gained a healthy amount of muscle while in the rainforest, but getting new robes was always a pain, so he didn’t look forward to it.

And let’s not even mention the fact that having to get used to new trends every few decades got old really quick.

He sighed, plopping down into one of the chairs lying nearby.

Not a moment later a ghost wondered inside the room, right through the door. She was tall and slender, with waist length hair and a beautiful face. Merlin recognized her instantly, and for a moment all he felt was the pang of hurt that always echoed in his chest when he saw her as a ghost. It took a second for him to collect himself, but then he found genuine joy in the fact that he was seeing her again.

“Helena!” he greeted with as much cheer as he could manage.

“Uncle Merlin,” she whispered, the edges of her mouth quirking up, “So, it is true. You have returned.”

Merlin grinned.

“You ghosts and portraits, always gossiping,” he shook his head in faux disapproval. “I bet the whole castle knows by now.”

She chuckled, and there was the tiniest hint of honest joy in her voice.

“Not the whole castle, Uncle. Mostly. But we are subtle! You know we will keep your secrets from the living,” she said, hovering closer and staring at him with the same adoration she always did throughout her childhood. “Have we ever let you down?”

Merlin smiled gently, and in that moment, he wished for nothing more than to hug her, just to wipe that lingering sadness off her face.

“Not once.” He gave her a grin. “But even if you told anyone, it’s not like they would believe it. Oh look, there is Merlin, looks kind of good for being fifteen hundred, isn’t he?” He chuckled. “Not exactly believable, is it?”

Helena hummed, then chuckled as well. “I suppose that’s true. You are rather hard to believe, even if one has known you for hundreds of years.”

“Hey, that was simply uncalled for,” Merlin joked, “I’m perfectly believable, I’ll let you know.”

The ghost just smiled and hovered even closer, as if she was afraid Merlin would up and disappear. “How have you been, Uncle? It has been too long since you’ve last come home.”

“Ah, the place I’ve been hanging around is awfully reclusive,” he answered with a wave of his hand, “Time passes differently there, so close to nature. Especially if you are a plant. No, don’t even ask.”

Helena pouted.

Merlin grinned. “But I’m back now.”

“I’m glad,” Helena murmured, reaching out as if she wished to touch, but then she seemed to think better of it and her hand fell back to her side. “I’ve missed you.”

Merlin gave her a reassuring smile, “I missed you too.”

* * *

**Three and a half weeks before school begins**

Sybill was… shaken. _Something was off_. She knew nobody would believe her – outright laugh at her in some cases – but she knew something was not right. Maybe she should go to Dumbledore, he always listened. He was so kind.

But no, she needed to confirm it first. See it with her own eyes. Because she could feel it in her very bones, shaking in shimmering beneath her skin. The change.

Something had shifted in Hogwarts, something small enough to avoid notice and yet making enormous ripples, like a stone thrown into the lake. As if the foundations themselves had changed shape and yet the castle remained the same.

The feeling had been there for days now, persistent, nagging, pulling her towards something. It appeared in her dreams in the forms of whispers, a name she didn’t recognize - but knew to be powerful - echoing again and again.

_Emrys is here_ , the dreams told her. But she didn’t know what that meant. What was an Emrys?

So, she followed the feeling, crystal ball clutched so tightly in her hand it had her knuckles whitening, though the ball showed nothing but mist, no matter how hard she stared at it. She wondered through the corridors in an almost dreamlike state, her eyes jumping from shadow to shadow as she passed.

She ignored the whispers of the portraits, the words following her, always following her. She could feel their judgement and their disapproval every time she had passed them, so this was nothing new, and yet it felt different now.

Maybe she was finally losing it, she thought. After all these years of ridicule, maybe it was finally coming true, and she was going mad. It seemed entirely too plausible, even to herself. But she just couldn’t ignore this pull. Couldn’t disregard this feeling. And so she drifted, like a moth to the flame, through the castle, following something she couldn’t quite name.

And then, suddenly, seemingly for no rhyme or reason, there was a change. The feeling started getting stronger with every step she took. She doubled, then tripled her pace, almost running by the time she reached the next turn in the corridor – only to run into someone with enough force to knock them right off their feet, while she managed to catch herself by clutching a nearby drape.

The young man lying on the ground blinked dazedly, with impossibly blue eyes. Sybill, feeling the tiniest bit of guilt for knocking him over, leaned over the wizard to check if he was alright. Their eyes met.

And then, so abruptly it felt as if a silencing charm was cast, the feeling stopped. Sybill let out a gasp from the shock, the crystal ball falling from her hands – right on the man’s stomach, who let out a quiet _humph._

He blinked again, then stared at her questioningly, as if asking _was that really necessary?_ Then, he grabbed the ball before it could roll away too much and scrambled to his feet.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said, with the faint hint of a strange accent. “I didn’t watch where I was going.”

Sybill stared. It couldn’t be. And yet it must have been. This man, boy really, was the source. Had to be. But he looked so ordinary. So young.

Was this Emrys?

Wait, what was an Emrys again?

“Are you alright?” the man asked uncertainly.

Shaking her head, Sybill creaked something along the lines of _‘yes, fine’,_ then she basically turned on her heels and ran.

Only when she was corridors away did she realize that she had left the crystal ball behind.

* * *

_‘That was… certainly odd,’_ Merlin thought, staring at the place where the peculiar woman had disappeared, leaving behind the crystal ball that she so ceremoniously threw on him.

Maybe it was some kind of new wizard custom. Merlin swore that each time he reintroduced himself to society, wizards just got stranger and stranger.

He glanced at the crystal ball briefly, but when the mist inside started to swirl and form into the vague shape of a sword, he quickly slipped it into his pocket with a loud exclamation of ‘Oh, no, don’t you dare,’ and continued his way towards Albus’ office for afternoon tea.

* * *

**Three weeks before school begins**

There were quite a few things Severus wasn’t fond of. He wasn’t fond of dogs, for example. Or noisy children. Or Gryffindors. (And he especially the badly brewed potions they made.)

And he most definitely wasn’t fond of staff meetings.

Which was why he was feeling exceedingly grumpy as he made his way towards the gargoyle of Dumbledore’s office. It didn’t help that he was already two minutes late, because one of his potions needed one last stir before he could leave the dungeons.

Imagine his surprise when he arrived in front of the gargoyle, only to find a raven-haired young man already standing in front of it, hands on his hips.

“Don’t you start again!” he said ardently, “I will curse you, you know!”

Severus stopped in his tracks, staring at the wizard’s back in shock. Was he… talking to the statue? Why was he talking to the statue?

Was he an idiot?

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” the young man continued “I know you do, because Avalon knows those four dollopheads had a humour like yours, but it really isn’t.”

Nothing happened.

Severus prayed to Merlin this guy wasn’t a new teacher.

“Come on now, please open up. I’m losing my patience with you.”

Severus rolled his eyes and was about to intervene when the strangest thing happened. The gargoyle moved, though no password had been said.

That should have been, for all intents and purposes, impossible.

And yet, the statue slid smoothly to the side and let the idiot through, who just strolled in as if it was the most normal thing in the world that he had just unearthed a huge security flaw.

But no, this was the gateway to the headmaster’s office, charmed by the founders themselves. It couldn’t be faulty. There had to be another reason.

Maybe Dumbledore somehow sensed they were here and opened it from the other side, Severus supposed.

Yes, that had to be it. No other explanation. The headmaster was certainly capable of it.

Closing his mouth – that was definitely not open because Severus had been gaping – the professor hurried after the idiot, following him through the entrance, up the stairs, and into the office, that was already filled with teachers.

Dumbledore gave the idiot and Severus a small smile, waving them into the office. “Professor Snape, Emrys, I’m glad to see you’ve arrived.”

There was a quiet gasp from Trelawney after the name of the idiot, but everyone ignored her, like they always did. Nobody had time for the maybe seer’s theatrics.

While the idiot – Emrys, apparently – gave a cheerful greeting to the room, Severus just gave a curt nod and went to stand at the side where he liked to be. Out of sight of everyone, hidden in the shadows. Perfect place to observe without being observed in return.

Emrys, however, made his way over to the desk, right next to Dumbledore, and grabbed a lemon drop, giving the headmaster a cheeky grin in passing.

Either he didn’t notice or didn’t care that everyone was gaping at him.

At first, Severus just assumed that he truly was an idiot, but then he noticed the way Dumbledore was looking at him. It was the look the headmaster usually gave those he was especially fond of.

Severus had seen the headmaster give this look many times before, but hardly ever to someone that Severus himself didn’t know.

There was history there.

_‘Interesting,’_ he thought, narrowing his eyes.

Even Minerva seemed intrigued.

“Now that we are all here,” Dumbledore started, giving another fond look at the young man next to him, “There are a few things I would like to discuss.”

The room stared at him patiently.

“I believe you’ve all already received your schedule for the next semester,” he said, reaching beside him and handing the bowl of lemon drops over to Emrys, who passed it on after grabbing one. “If you have any complaints, please don’t be afraid to come to me with them. As you all know, you can always find me in my office.”

“Now, you may have already heard that we will have a few changes of personnel in our staff,” Dumbledore smiled, and Severus’ eyes automatically wandered over to the idiot. The headmaster, probably noticing all their gazes, gestured at the young man next to him. “One of our new additions is Professor Myrddin Emrys, who will be taking up History of Magic this year.”

“Hi.” Emrys grinned brightly – still looking like a complete idiot - and waved at them.

Severus scoffed. Surely, Dumbledore couldn’t be serious. This man looked much too young, green, and foolish to ever be respected as a teacher. The children would eat him alive.

Maybe he would be sufficient enough as an assistant or something, but certainly not a full-fledged teacher right off the bat, especially not for one of the core classes that were included in the OWL.

Even Professor Sprout started off as an assistant in the beginning, and she had been well known among her peers, and incredibly talented with plants.

Children, especially the older ones, could sense weakness, like sharks sensed blood in the water. They could be downright cruel if given the opportunity.

It was enough of a problem that Dumbledore somehow always managed to find the most troublesome people for Defence Against the Dark Arts, now apparently History of Magic had to become a disaster as well.

One look around the room proved he wasn’t the only one with doubts; with the exception of Trelawney – who was wearing an expression that showed some sort of weird adoration – everyone looked either doubtful, thoughtful, or curious.

Dumbledore, either not noticing - or more likely ignoring - all of their reactions, continued on unperturbed. “For the other addition, we will be welcoming back professor Quirrel, who will return from his year-long sabbatical on September first and volunteered to take up Defence Against the Dark Arts this year.”

There were a few whispers in response to that, and Severus frowned. Why would Quirrell move from Muggle studies, which was an elective and therefore less stressful, to Defence Against the Dark Arts? He was hardly any good at teaching his previous class, with his continuous flares of anxiety and shyness. Did he really want more stress by taking up a core class?

Severus would have to keep an eye on both the new teachers, it seemed.

The changes this year were alarming to say the least.

“With that out of the way, we have quite a few more things to discuss,” Dumbledore said, lightly slapping his hands together. “As you all know, Hagrid has returned with the philosopher’s stone, which I’ve placed at an undisclosed location until we finish the preparations for its protections.”

Everyone nodded at that, faces suddenly serious. As far as Severus knew, six of them have submitted their ideas for safeguards for the stone. He himself had created a potion puzzle, quite cleverly if he might add, and he knew Hagrid offered up that three-headed dog of his to be placed as a guardian. He also had a suspicion that Sprout was planning to use Devil’s snare - a smart idea, even if easily countered if one knew how to read a book.

He wasn’t sure what the others came up with, but he knew there would be no point in asking. Keeping the secret of the enchantments was part of the protection, after all.

“During the next week, I will call on some of you to add your own piece of the protections,” Dumbledore continued, after the whispers died down, “so please make yourself available. If you have any questions or reservations, please don’t be afraid to voice them now.”

When nobody said anything, Dumbledore gave a small smile, and continued on to another, much more mundane subject that they had to discuss.

For the next hour or so, Severus kept his eyes on the new professor, squinting slightly.

He already disliked him.

* * *

Merlin could feel the eyes on him. Appraising, judgemental, or simply curious, but they were all staring. Some were subtle, some were not. A few only glanced at him again and again, while others, like the weird batlike guy, outright kept glaring. What was his name? Serverus Snake? Severus Snake? No, Severus Snape.

Merlin met his eyes for a long moment before grinning at him, causing Snape to sneer and turn away, to the warlock’s great amusement.

Otherwise, the looks hardly bothered him. He was more than used to the attention from every time he would appear somewhere unexpectedly. It even amused him to some degree.

In the beginning, years and years ago, he tried to use aging glamours or potions to make himself look more respectable. But soon enough, he realized it wasn’t worth the effort. Yes, he knew he looked young, but it was hardly his fault that he had stopped aging somewhere between twenty and twenty-three.

Being underestimated often came in handy in the past anyway, and it would no doubt be useful in the future, so it wasn’t exactly a tragedy. Just kind of bothersome. People were so gullible, it was laughable, really. One look at someone, and they thought they had enough information to make assumptions.

Although it would do Merlin some good if his colleagues didn’t underestimate him right off the bat – that usually caused some problems later on that he didn’t much prefer.

Maybe he should prove himself in one way or another soon, with something small but efficient. Some wandless magic ought to do it, it always made wand users lose their minds.

He sighed.

Young wizards and their naivety.

* * *

After the meeting concluded, Merlin was hardly surprised when he was approached by one of the teachers. He even recognized her; she was the woman, Minerva McGonagall, whom Albus mentioned once or twice before Merlin left for the Amazon.

“Minerva McGonagall,” she introduced herself, holding out a hand. “Transfiguration professor and head of the Gryffindor house.”

Her eyes weren’t necessarily cold or disapproving, but instead calculating and thoughtful, maybe even curious. She had been teaching here for quite a while, as far as Merlin knew, which probably meant that she knew without a doubt that he wasn’t enrolled here.

“It’s a pleasure,” he answered, shaking the outstretched hand.

The woman smiled slightly. “You seem fairly young to be a professor, especially for someone who had never been enrolled in Hogwarts. I don’t doubt Dumbledore has his reasons, but if you ever require any help, you can always come to me.”

Merlin grinned. Albus held this woman in high regard for a reason, it appeared.

The warlock already liked her.

“That is very kind of you,” he replied, “But I wouldn’t want to be a nuisance.”

“Please, it’s no bother,” she assured him with a wave of her hand. “Although, and I hope you don’t mind me asking, but where do you know Professor Dumbledore from?”

Merlin automatically looked over to the headmaster, who was talking with the Snape guy. The batlike professor was gesticulating animatedly, probably trying to prove a point. When he glanced at Merlin, it was made clear what he was trying to convince the headmaster of.

Merlin held back a smirk. “We’ve been acquainted some years ago, here in Hogwarts actually.”

“In Hogwarts?” McGonagall asked, frowning slightly.

“Yes. But not as a student.”

The woman stared at him with unreadable eyes, obviously catching on that Merlin wasn’t intending to tell her anything more. She stood straighter, with her hands clasped behind her back, her head held high; no doubt she was trying to instil some sort of authority, to make Merlin crack and spill the beans like a misbehaving student.

Merlin, however, could stand up to the Gaius eyebrow. Hardly anything could measure up to that, so if Merlin wanted to stay silent, nobody could force him to talk.

He gave her his brightest grin as a response.

She huffed but relaxed her stance somewhat. “So, where are you from, then?”

“I was born in Britain, but I’ve been around,” Merlin answered, smiling still, “I didn’t receive any formal magical education anywhere, but I’m hardly less for it.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

The woman seemed to have come to a conclusion then, and her eyes widened just a fraction, before something else appeared on her face. Merlin had been on the receiving end of that expression enough times to recognise sympathy when he saw it.

It made him want to cringe.

“That’s true, and don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise,” she said, her voice serious. “You are not any less than your peers, magic or not.”

Realizing the implications, Merlin groaned inwardly. This couldn’t be happening, surely. Not again. He was hardly a squib, why did everyone think that? He was the exact opposite, the anti-squib, magic incarnate.

According to the druids anyway.

Not that there was anything wrong with squibs, but seriously, he wasn’t one. Why couldn’t people stop presuming otherwise? Was it his face? Did he have one of those faces?

Surely, they could have simply assumed he was home-schooled. But no, people always had to think that he was a squib.

He wondered whether he should try to correct the professor, or just accept that this was his life now. Snape had already seen him conversing with a statue, so he supposed that at this point there wasn’t much left to salvage of his reputation.

He sighed. This was going to be another Camelot, wasn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter Wiki is my new home, 'cuz I'm spending way too much time there.  
> Once again, please give me your thoughts, people, I wanna know what you think.


	3. The beginning of school: part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet a plant, Merlin wonders why the world goes to hell every time he leaves for a few years, Harry has a strange, strange day, there are a few speeches, and curiosity once again did not kill the cat, but this time it did wake her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have weird relationship with the books, since I don’t want to copy too much, but I never know if the story is understandable if I don’t tell you what happens in canon. Oh well.  
> I apologize if this is a mess, but I'm in a hurry, and if I don't post it now, I don't know when I'll be able to.  
> I'll try to reread it later. Enjoy!

**The night before September first**

Merlin threw the newspaper behind himself with a sigh, not even bothering to look when he heard Snappy catch it with his absurdly gigantic leaf-jaw and start tearing at it.

“Be a sweetheart, and don’t leave a mess,” he told the plant that he may or may not have stolen from the Main Hut from the magician tribe of the Amazonian Rainforest.

To be fair, Snappy insisted he wanted to come with Merlin, so who was he to refuse? That would have just been cruel to poor creature, who obviously wanted to come with him to Britain. And so, the night before he left, Merlin grabbed the potted magical plant, replaced him with a glamoured rock, and hoped nobody would notice it before the two of them were halfway across the world.

And anyway, most magicians in the tribe were probably relieved to be rid of Snappy. He kept eating the hats.

Merlin smiled at the memory, shaking his head slightly before going back to the papers in front of him. He had spent the last few weeks catching up on everything he had missed, including politics. And needless to say, he was unimpressed. Then again, he had pretty high standards, set by Arthur and then Gwen, but that didn’t mean he didn’t notice incompetence when he saw it and boy, did he see it now.

Deciding he didn’t have the emotional capacity to read what else the ministry had managed to get so fascinatingly wrong, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. The sound of chewing didn’t help his mood, even though it usually amused him to some degree. Snappy always was a messy eater, it was one of his charms, just like eating hats.

The magicians without their headwear usually didn’t agree, but oh well.

Merlin didn’t mind if one or two of his hats got torn up, truly, but come on, did Snappy really need to eat everything _so loudly?_ It was stressing Merlin out.

Though that may not have been the plant’s fault. After years and years spent in a forest where (almost) everything was calming and stress free, life back in Britain was surprisingly hard to adjust to. Especially since wizards insisted on being dumbasses. Seriously, a war? Merlin was gone for what, half a century, and they started a bloody war?

And who even follows a guy who calls himself _the Dark Lord?_ Did people not have standards anymore? At least Morgana called herself High Priestess. Now that had a ring to it. But Dark Lord?

Please.

Things were so much simpler back in Camelot. Just advise Arthur, get something thrown at you, figure out who is behind the latest magical attack, wait until Arthur gets knocked out, get rid of the attacker, find an excuse that Arthur will believe – so basically any excuse, really, and then repeat.

Even after a thousand years’ worth of memories, it still felt like only yesterday. His whole immortal life, and nothing felt as real as those years did, before Arthur had been put to rest.

But Hogwarts wasn’t that far behind. Teaching students, interacting with young witches and wizards, seeing the legacy of his four friends not just live on but _thrive,_ it was something that Merlin could never grow bored of seeing.

He loved Hogwarts so, so much. And Hogwarts loved him, its magic familiar and comforting, completing Merlin in a way nothing had since Camelot. It was home, with all its little quirks, and he was happy to be here.

The current staff of the school was nice enough too. Most of the professors were polite and respectful, even if they did give Merlin a few curious glances here and there. Merlin talked to most, if not all of them during the last few weeks, and he almost only had positive things to say.

He quite liked Hagrid, the half-giant, because he treated everything as simple. Dumbledore trusts Professor Emrys? Then there is no reason for anyone else to do otherwise. And he had the most magnificent magical beasts, most of whom were just too cute for their own good. Seriously that three-headed dog? Such a sweet little thing.

Sprout wasn’t hard to win over. When Merlin appeared in the greenhouses with most of the plants he brought from the rainforest – not with Snappy, because he is not handing over Snappy – along with books on how to care for them, the woman took an instant liking to Merlin. (Or maybe it was just tolerance? It was hard to tell with Sprout, but Merlin wasn’t going to complain as long as the offer to talk about plants with her anytime he wanted still stood.)

Then there was Snape, who avoided Merlin like the plague. Every time the warlock tried to start a conversation he would simply turn around and walk away. It would have been annoying if it wasn’t so hilarious, as Merlin quickly realized he could make the professor turn around at random times just by being his usual self.

But the worst was definitely Trelawney, the woman who threw the crystal ball at Merlin when they first met. She still stared at him as if he was some kind of miracle, with the same open adoration in her eyes that the druids used to have, only she turned tail and ran every time he tried to approach her. Which would have been fine, really, if she wasn’t a seer, making the whole situation ominous. Merlin wondered what she could have possibly seen that made her react this way and quickly realized he probably didn’t want to know.

At least he managed to avoid most of the house elves since he came back. He really wasn’t ready for that level of reverence returning into his life.

The sound of munching abruptly stopped, dragging Merlin back to the present. The warlock looked behind himself, only to see the whole floor underneath the windowsill covered in torn pieces of newspaper.

“You just had to make a mess, didn’t you?” Merlin huffed, shaking his head. “See what you’ve done? I hope you are proud of yourself. You know who has to clean that up, right?”

The burp the plant let out was doubtlessly a good indication that he was, in fact, immensely proud of himself.

“Unbelievable,” Merlin muttered, before pushing himself out of his chair, deciding that a midnight walk was exactly what he needed. He still had many hours before dawn, anyway.

* * *

**The evening of September first**

Harry was having the strangest day.

It all started at noon when he had run through a wall as if it wasn’t even there in the first place. Because apparently, in the wizarding world, walls did that.

Go figure.

After that, things got even stranger. He had made a real-life friend on the train – And it wasn’t even a spider he found in his room, but an actual human. Then again, he also made an enemy, so that probably balanced it out.

Then, after getting off the train, he proceeded to get into a boat, - he really didn’t envy Hogwarts students with motion sickness – then he met some ghosts, because those were a thing.

Then he conversed with a hat, who read his mind, - Harry really, really hoped that not all wizard hats did that – but it actually listened to his concerns, which, well, already put him above most of the adults Harry knew, pun not intended.

Then Harry actually got situated at a table of one of the houses of a wizarding school, and it wasn’t even the one that everyone hated. And what was even stranger, people were truly happy to see him there.

And if that wasn’t enough excitement for a day, right after that he was privy to the strangest welcoming speech ever, made by Dumbledore – whom he recognized from the Chocolate Frog card.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”

After that, Harry may or may not have asked Percy if Dumbledore was mad, which was probably a rude thing to ask about your new school’s headmaster, but thankfully nobody was insulted.

But then he was offered food from plates that had been sparkling clear not a moment before. The simple fact that there was so much food on the table was astounding by itself, and the fact that he got to have as much as he wanted? It felt like a dream coming true.

Fortunately, Harry was quite sure he wasn’t dreaming, since even he couldn’t dream up Malfoy.

All in all, it was the strangest day. Then again, he had quite a few of those lately. It seemed like just yesterday that he had found out that he was actually a wizard, learned how his parents actually died, got informed about the fact that he was a celebrity, and so on.

After eating so much he felt like he would die if he ate one more bite, his eyes found the High table, where the professors were situated. He had to admit he was fascinated, curious to see who would be teaching him magic of all things.

And they were truly a sight to behold, a good number of them looking unusual in one way or another. There was Hagrid, who was as big as three people, unlike the man next to him, who was barely tall enough for his head to be seen behind the goblets. Then there was Quirrell, whose purple turban stood out with its peculiarity, and beside him was a man with strange, hooked nose and greasy black hair, conversing with Quirrell. For a moment, Harry’s eyes met the unknown professor’s, and sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on his forehead.

After inquiring about the teacher from Percy – and finding out that he was, in fact the Potions professor who knew an awful lot about the Dark Arts – he returned his attention to the other teachers, his eyes carefully avoiding Professor Snape.

He had taken note of another teacher almost immediately. At first, he looked perfectly ordinary, but upon closer inspection, there was something off about him. Sure, he looked young, but that in itself was nothing strange. No, there was something else, something Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on. He didn’t _look_ strange per se, maybe a bit peculiar, with his black hair and almost unnaturally pale skin and high cheekbones. But there was just something about him.

Harry frowned and kept observing, suddenly curious to know just what was off, but still unable to name it. The professor was acting normal enough, grinning and talking animatedly with Dumbledore, who seemed quite immersed in the conversation as well. A few of the other teachers seemed to be listening in, their faces varying from curiosity to amusement.

“Hey, Percy, doesn’t that dude look familiar to you?” Ron asked suddenly, “the one talking with Dumbledore.”

Harry’s eyes widened in realization, because of course. The teacher didn’t look weird, he looked familiar. But how was that possible, for him to look familiar to Ron _and_ Harry?

Immediately, half the Gryffindor table turned to look at the teacher in question. He seemed to take notice, turning towards them with a questioning look. Harry was just about to look away, feeling embarrassed about the fact that they were all caught staring and not wanting to be rude, but then the professor waved at them with a dimpled grin, before turning back to his conversation with the headmaster, completely unbothered.

“Hm, not really, I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen him before,” Percy answered thoughtfully. “He is probably a new teacher. Wait for Dumbledore’s announcement, he always mentions newcomers.”

“He looks familiar to me too,” Hermione mentioned.

“Me too,” another first year added.

“Maybe he had one of those generic faces?” Harry offered, even though he didn’t believe it himself. Looking around, he knew others didn’t either.

“Oh, that’s definitely not it. He looks too dreamy to be generic,” one of the older girls noted wistfully, “I like those cheekbones.”

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Ron had no such reservations. _“Girls”_ he muttered under his breath, and Harry was inclined to agree.

It was in that moment that the last of the desserts disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again, causing the hall to fall silent once more.

"Ahern - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you,” he started, "First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.”

"On another note, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" he muttered to Percy.

"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere – the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

“And last but not least,” Dumbledore continued, ignoring the whispers that started to pick up, “I would like you all to give a warm welcome back to Professor Quirrell, who had returned to Hogwarts this year, and kindly consented to take up the teaching of Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

There was brief applause, and quite a few whispers before Dumbledore moved on.

“And I would also like to introduce Professor Emrys,” at this he gestured at the young man Harry – and half the Gryffindor table - had taken notice of earlier. “He will be replacing Professor Binns in the post of History of Magic teacher.”

Once again, there was applause, but the number of whispers increased tenfold.

“He got an OWL subject! Not that Binns was good, but…”

“He looks young–”

“Kind of cute, though–”

“There is something strange about him-”

“Yes, but that smile is to die for!”

“Can’t be worse than Binns…”

“I already have the best prank ideas–”

And on and on the whispers went, quite a few pointing out that someone completely new and so young getting a core class without anyone even hearing about his existence before was strange, even if he _did_ seem familiar to quite a few students.

According to Ron, most teachers already had a reputation before getting their posts, either having gone to Hogwarts beforehand, or their names being known in the wizarding community in their respective fields.

Harry found it weird that they would judge someone so easily. They were all wizards and witches here, right? Surely, people weren’t all what they seemed. Maybe the guy was actually hundreds of years old, just magicked himself to look young. Or maybe he was some kind of elf, he certainly had the cheekbones for it. Or maybe the guy was simply really smart and knew a lot about history, so it didn’t matter if he was young or not. Surely, there were many explanations for him getting the job.

He decided not to mention any of this, however, as he didn’t want to seem too ignorant. Already, it was humiliating enough that everybody seemed to know his lifestory better than he himself. No need to add to the rumour mill about Harry Potter knowing nothing about the wizarding world.

Her buried his questions, deciding that solving the enigma that was Professor Emrys could wait.

* * *

**First week, day one**

Not great, but not overly terrible.

That was Merlin’s opinion so far.

Sure, he would have thought that a wizarding war had been enough of a lesson for the younger generations to realize that prejudice was not a joke – after all, most of Riddle’s followers were made of people who had some sort of bizarre belief about being better than their peers, just because of what their parents could or couldn’t do with a wand.

But no, people never learned, did they?

His very first lesson of the year was with the fifth years on Monday. From the moment he stepped foot into the classroom, he knew that he had quite the challenge ahead of him. Sure, he was aware that Binns had an unfortunate tendency to lull students to sleep, but the sheer amount of boredom his class regarded him with was almost comical.

Half of them were asleep, for Avalon’s sake.

Which was why he went ahead and slammed the book on the table with enough force to make the whole class jump in place with various amounts of alarm on their faces. Even the cat that was slumbering on one of the bookshelves – who Merlin was almost entirely sure was actually Professor McGonagall – sat up with an urgent look on its face.

“Good morning!” he said with a bright grin. “I hope you all had a wonderful summer, because this is your OWL year so I’m not going to accept anything less than your very best from you!”

There were a few groans and muttered curses as the students tried to pull themselves together, lifting their heads off the table and straightening themselves as much as they could.

“Now, none of that glum look,” Merlin continued with a cheerful handwave. “It’s going to be fun!”

One look at the class showed him exactly what the fifth years thought about that statement.

Merlin’s grin brightened. “Ah, I love the enthusiasm of youth. Now, before we begin, I’ve got a few questions for you all.”

A few Ravenclaws seemed to perk up at that, while others just kept staring at Merlin as if he was talking in another language entirely.

…Which may have happened a few times in the past, but Merlin was much better at not making those mistakes anymore, thank you very much. (Just to be sure, he quickly thought back and checked if he was talking the current version of English, as he was supposed to. Yes, yes he was.)

He clasped his hands together. “I want to know your ideas about why you lot need to be learning history. Surely, some of you have some inkling?”

A student from Gryffindor slowly lifted his hand up.

“And don’t say ‘passing your OWLs’, because while it’s a good answer, it isn’t a correct one.”

The student lowered his hand.

“Alrigthy then, no volunteers I see. Shame, I do like giving out house points,” Merlin shrugged, situating himself so he was sitting on the teacher’s table. “I’ll go ahead and point it out for you, shall I? The first, and most straightforward reason would be the simple fact that nobody wants to look like a dollophead.” At that, there were a few snickers. “There is a certain amount of general knowledge that the world expects you to be in possession of, and they will not hesitate to call you a fool if you are not. And no, that does not include the history of self-stirring cauldrons.”

Merlin grinned at the lingering looks of pain that appeared on the faces in front of him at the mention of that particular subject.

“Now, there is a reason much more important,” he continued, “A muggle called George Santayana once said that ‘Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’ I implore you think about that.” His eyes swept over the fifth years, making sure not linger on anyone. “Any ideas what it could mean?”

The students were still silent, but their attention was on him at least.

“Hm. Let’s start with an easier question, then. If we were to start pointing fingers like uncivilized people, then who would we say is to blame for the last wizarding war?”

It appeared that was a question nobody expected, as all their faces took on various expressions of shock. They looked among themselves, whispering quietly.

“Come on, anyone? You all know what I expect to hear, don’t be shy now.”

One of the Gryffindor students, a prefect if Merlin remembered correctly, lifted his hand.

“Go ahead, Mr…?”

“Weasley, sir. And the answer would be You-know-who.”

Merlin hummed and nodded. “Quite right, five points to Gryffindor. But if you had to guess, what would you say, who caused more causalities? Voldemort” Merlin ignored the whispers that started at the name, “or his army of Death eaters who blindly followed him?”

“His… Death eaters?” said a Ravenclaw girl uncertainly.

“And you are exactly right. Five points to Ravenclaw. Now don’t misunderstand me, Voldemort was a powerful dark wizard, but he _was just a_ wizard. One man cannot fight a war.” Merlin’s eyes darkened. “And if he hadn’t had any followers, a lot of bad things could have been avoided. So who is to blame for that? His followers? Yes, surely. But who else?”

The class stared at him as if he had grown another head.

“Let me put it this way,” Merlin continued, unperturbed, “It is very rare that someone is born evil. We are all victims of circumstance. Maybe it’s the parents, maybe it’s the friends, maybe the enemies, but ideas like prejudices don’t just magically appear in someone’s head. The death eaters had been conditioned to believe what they did, and while they are the ones responsible for their own actions, that doesn’t make us blameless. We are responsible for how our actions reflect on the world around us. Like hating someone for being born from a muggle family or looking down on someone for being in a house with a reputation.” He pointedly did not look at the Slytherins.

“Many know that Salazar Slytherin despised Muggles and their children, as he himself came from a long line of magic users. But less people are aware that his hatred is a direct cause of Muggles almost burning him alive when he was young. That doesn’t excuse his prejudice, but it helps us understand his motives. Just like it was the fear of the muggles had for him was what led him down the path of hatred, that same fear on his side was what had caused him to be rejected by his friends.”

He searched the faces of the students for comprehension. Some seemed to be catching on, others just frowned at him.

“You’ve all heard about Uther Pendragon and his Great Purge?”

Everyone nodded.

“It was his hatred that turned Morgana into the evil that you’ve all heard of. Once again, she is to blame for her own decisions, but I daresay, Merlin isn’t blameless either, for her turning to the dark side was a direct result of his actions.”

The students gasped, the whispers picking up.

“See what I’m getting at? Throughout history, patterns repeat themselves. Fear, hatred, prejudice. And it never ends well for anyone involved, yet nobody seems to learn from it.”

“And that’s just one example for the idea of why you should be aware of history. Believe me, this isn’t the only recurring theme throughout the ages. We are all responsible for not making the same mistakes twice, whether it is ours that we repeat or our forefathers’.”

He pushed himself off the table and grabbed a chalk. “Well then, now we’ve discussed that, I believe it’s time to learn.”

Not a single person was asleep when he stepped in front of the board.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally meant for this to include the whole first week, but it got too long and it took too much time to reread it, so I cut it in half, sorry.  
> I’m not very happy with Merlin’s speech, but I don’t know how to make it better so I just shrugged and said fuck it.  
> Also, I’ve taken some creative liberties with Slytherin, but I refuse to apologize for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> I don't own Merlin, nor do I own the Harry Potter series.


End file.
